


One single thread of gold

by Ludicrous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Flash Fic, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludicrous/pseuds/Ludicrous
Summary: The day had barely begun. Delicate tendrils of sunlight were filtering through the room, falling like a rain of stars on the man next to him. Mycroft watched as Gregory moved in his sleep, snuggling closer to Mycroft’s warmth.One peaceful Monday morning, soon-to-be disturbed by the confession Mycroft has to make...This was written for the Mystrade Monday prompt "I made a mistake"
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 15
Kudos: 120





	One single thread of gold

The day had barely begun. Delicate tendrils of sunlight were filtering through the room, falling like a rain of stars on the man next to him. Mycroft watched as Gregory moved in his sleep, snuggling closer to Mycroft’s warmth.

Mycroft swallowed the warm feeling that unfurled in his chest. He wished desperately for a few more minutes of this unsuspended stillness, this deep quiet filling the room. _Space knows no sound._

Mycroft looked down at his lover. Stars would sing of Gregory Lestrade for centuries to come. Mycroft only had a few minutes left.

And the sun kept on rising, unaware. 

He had mapped out Greg’s body, had etched lines of worship onto his skin. And yet his treacherous hand stretched out to him still. _My North Star._

If he were a lesser man, he would have fled already. He had been trained to walk lightly. He knew how to disappear. Gregory would never find him again.

Mycroft eased himself from Greg’s arms, desperate for some space to think. Greg’s expression tightened and his eyelashes fluttered. Mycroft held his breath.

"Mornin’."

"Hello," Mycroft answered. He stood on shaky legs.

"What’s wrong?" 

Greg had stretched to take up the whole bed. Sunlight turned his skin golden. Mycroft wished that he had dressed in his suit and not in Greg’s borrowed shirt. He shifted where he stood.

"I made a mistake," Mycroft forced the words past the lump in his throat.

"What do you mean?" Greg was properly awake now - his shoulders had tightened in alarm.

Mycroft smiled thinly to silence his splintered heart which was begging him to stop. "This isn’t working."

Greg made a wounded noise, deep in his throat. Mycroft’s heart clenched in answering distress. He desperately wanted to gather the man in his arms, to protect him from the echoes of his words.

But it was too late. His touch was no longer welcome. Mycroft clenched his fingers against his palm, breathing hard. _The gravitational pull of the moon pulls the sea towards it, causing the ocean tides._

Greg stood and dressed slowly. His hands shook around the knot of his tie. It took him several tries to fasten it. Mycroft refrained from stepping forward to help.

Greg stopped at the bedroom door. A visible shiver ran down his spine. _Dark energy repels gravity, a sea of constant energy in empty space itself._

"Am I not even allowed-" Greg’s voice cracked, and Mycroft realized that he was holding back tears. "-an explanation?"

When Greg turned around, his face had settled again. To anyone else, he would look collected. Mycroft noticed his hand shaking around the doorknob.

"Although I agreed to our agreement some months ago, I no longer feel-" Mycroft struggled to find the right words. "This is no longer working."

"That’s what you said earlier." Greg’s furrowed his brow in confusion. "Is it- because I stayed the night? I’m sorry that I didn’t ask-"

Mycroft shook his head before he could think about it. He could not allow sweet, perfect Greg to believe that this was somehow _his_ fault.

"Then what is it then? I’m sure-" Greg faltered, his gaze dropping down to his striped socks. "Perhaps we can fix whatever is wrong."

"No, the fault is entirely mine." 

It was not Greg’s fault that he was too easy to fall in love with. It had happened so slowly that Mycroft hadn’t noticed, lured by a false sense of security. 

"Right, the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’," Greg huffed a hollow laugh.

"You don’t understand," Mycroft let out, frustrated.

"Then make me understand!" Greg took a step forward, his eyes glowing with anger and unshed tears.

"This is my fault because I convinced myself that this could work, that I could manage a short-term arrangement with you, no strings attached. And it has failed irremediably."

"Oh." Greg’s shoulders sagged. "I had not realized that this has become a burden to you, of course I-"

"You’re not listening!" Mycroft exhaled harshly, his face flushing with anger. "You are wonderful, Gregory, and I have only myself to blame if I fell in love with you!"

Gregory took a step back, his eyes wide. _The Moon has been slowly drifting away from Earth for billions of years._

Mycroft was too overwhelmed to decipher what emotions were sifting through Gregory’s magnetic gaze. He merely stared, waiting for his world to fall into ruin.

"You- what?"

Mycroft inhaled, his mind whirling to find a way out of this mess. When he had prepared his speech in his head, it had _not_ gone this way. 

"You see, now, why this can no longer continue," Mycroft sighed. "I could not bring myself to lie to you any longer."

Something shifted on Greg’s expression - his face contorted in a mix of disbelief and hope. 

"You daft genius," Greg said in a fond voice. 

He did not sound like himself at all. Mycroft wondered whether he had managed to break the Detective Inspector.

He did not have time to consider the thought too closely, however, before warm hands cupped his jaw. Greg pressed tiny, feather-light kisses on his nose, on his lids, on his mouth.

"If you made a mistake, darlin’, then I’m right there with you."

Mycroft arrived very, very late on Monday morning, wearing striped socks and an untamable smile.


End file.
